Real American Heroes
by Roy Olsen
Summary: Cobra is selling weapons in Iraq, and the Joe team is sent into the middle of the War on Terror to get them out. G.I. Joe is now in a real war, with terrorists of two different scales to fight. Can the team survive? Now complete. Please R&R.
1. Fear

**Writer's Note:** I have never been to Iraq, so I have no knowledge of what these experiences are truly like, nor what the locations truly look like. I can only go by what the media has shown me. To any veteran of the Iraq war, if this story is offensively inaccurate, let me know and I will remove it immediately. Thank you.

**Chapter 1**

**Fear**

A day like today would kill the common man. But Ronald Tadur had fallen far from the title of "common" long ago. As he slowly made his way down the streets of Baghdad, sweating in the burning, one-hundred-ten degree heat, he was loving the feel of nature. It was the environment he was born in, from the moment he popped out of his mother's womb back in Las Vegas, Nevada all those years ago, he was destined to be a man of the desert.

He just wished that it wasn't this desert.

The people of Iraq were good people, not really that different from anyone else in the world. What made them different was that they were nervous people; tortured by a growing band of fanatics begging for attention at the sake of the innocent. It could be seen in there eyes and heard in their tone of their voices when they spoke.

Ronald Tadur didn't plan on being a part of the chaos intertwined throughout this tortured culture; but, by choice, he was. He was a hero. Ronald was the name that only his mother called him anymore. Now…now, by ninety-nine percent of the world he was known as Dusty, desert trooper of the G.I. Joe Team.

Today we wore a modern military uniform, to help disguise his identity. Dusty roamed with a group of Army soldiers on their patrol through central Baghdad, heading back to the US Army's main base. Fellow Joe teammates Footloose and Hit & Run walked with him, but they were affected far more by the heat. Dusty could only smile at their gasps for air and sweating faces.

"You guys aren't looking so good."

"Don't you think it's a bit hot out today, Dusty?" asked Hit & Run.

"Sure I do." The Joe desert trooper pulled out a canteen and handed it to the Joe light infantryman. "But I don't spend all my time worrying about it. That just makes the problem worse." Hit & Run began chugging the water. "Whoa, slow down there, cowboy. You drink too much, that'll just add to the problem. You take care of yourself proper, and you might just begin to enjoy the sunshine."

"That's pretty deep, there, Dusty."

"Not really, Footloose. Just something a desert native forces himself to learn."

Hit & Run stared at Dusty while handing back the canteen. "Uh-huh."

The master sergeant of the military unit walked back to the Joes. "Everything all right with you guys?"

"Yes, Sergeant." Said Dusty. "Just stopping for a drink of water."

"Okay. Let's pick it up. We've got to be back at the base in twenty minutes."

"Yes, sir!" said the Joes in unison.

The group started to make good time east, with only a couple of stops to talk with some Iraqi police and another infantry unit driving through town in a Hummer.

"Seems like a pretty laid-back day today, Sarge." commented Footloose.

"So far. But the day is young." The sergeant looked down the street towards a busy restaurant, and lifted up his rifle across his chest. Dusty walked up to him.

"Something bothering you?"

"I don't like the look of that area around that restaurant. It's really busy down there today." Dusty analyzed the sight two blocks down the road, and quickly respected the sergeant's quick eye. Due to the day's extreme heat, many customers were eating outside, underneath white umbrellas. The sidewalk was pack-full of people, and anyone trying to get around them had to step out onto the street.

The sergeant called up two of his men. "Get down there and walk the far side of the street. Look for anyone that looks like a suicide bomber."

"Yes, sir."

"What do you want us to do, sir?" asked Dusty.

"We need to stop traffic through this street. Take your men a block past the restaurant and start shutting it off. I'll use the rest of my guys to bar off this end."

"Yes, sir."

Briskly walking down the street, the Joe team walked past the restaurant, much to the nervous looks of the patrons. Desperately trying to keep their cool, the three elite troopers felt like trainees again, unsure of what to do in this new situation.

"Dusty, I'll take the far side of the street." Informed Hit & Run.

"Good." Replied the desert trooper. "See if any of those Iraqi Policeman can speak English and will help you." The Light Infantryman nodded and ran off, dodging traffic.

"What do we do, man?" asked Footloose, lost in the dizzying flow of traffic.

Dusty grabbed some traffic cones that were set at the corner of a building. "They must keep these around for just such a coincidence. Take those wooden bars and start blocking off the lanes."

"What about the people?"

"We can't stop them from walking. Just work on the cars."

Amidst a heavy barrage of car horns, the Joes—along with the Iraqi police—began blocking off the densely populated city block. Once the task was completed, Hit & Run ran back and rejoined the Joes at the street corner.

"Well, the people don't like it, but it's done." Said the light infantryman.

"I don't think those police are too happy with us, either." Pointed out Footloose. His teammates looked over to see the law enforcers being swamped by local Iraqi's, all wanting to know what was going on. A swarm was beginning to form around the Joes as well, but not a single word made any sense to the guys.

But the sight coming down the street did.

"Get these people out of the way now!" barked Dusty. Swinging his trademark FAMAS sub-machine gun into firing position, the desert trooper clicked off the safety. A dented, orange car was charging down the city street, and was making no hints at stopping at the traffic cones. Dusty opened fire, shattering the windshield. The driver was killed instantly, and the car began to swerve out of control, but it was too late. The car's momentum sent it the twenty yards more it needed to blaze past the Joes and crash into the crowd around the restaurant.

Then, it exploded.

A concussive force strong enough to crack a tank slammed into Dusty, Footloose and Hit & Run. Flying almost ten feet down the street, the Joe's bodies hit the pavement and rolled. After a few moments, some Baghdad natives helped the troops stand back up.

Dusty could barely keep his eyes open, but quickly snapped to attention when he saw the ball of smoke and blazing fire engulfing the people around the restaurant.

"Damn!" Dusty stumbled forward, but was caught by a native, who said something to him. The Joe nodded and tried to calm the man down, then looked behind him. "Footloose, Hit & Run, speak to me, are you all right?"

"Yeah…yeah, Dusty. I'm okay." Said Footloose.

"I may have cracked a rib." Groaned Hit & Run.

"Then you go check on the police. Footloose, let's get the people out of there, pronto!"

"You got it, dude!"

The Joes attempted to return to the restaurant, but the hysteria in the area made movement down the street five times harder than before. Regrettably, the sounds of police and ambulance sirens were the only force able to make cracks in the mob of people.

Dusty had never seen so much blood, and Footloose could barely keep his already unstable mind together. The former hippie started to crack with laughter but Dusty slapped him back into reality. "Not now, Footloose! _Not now!_" His fellow Joe stared at him until the laughter settled. He sniffed, then coughed from the smoke.

"Yes, sir. What do you want me to do?"

Dusty slapped him on the shoulder. "Get the injured people that can still walk down the street towards the ambulances. Move it. Yo Joe!"

Footloose nodded with a slight shake. "Y-yo Joe!"

As his friend began herding the hunched over, stumbling wounded down the street, Dusty knelt down amidst a group of locals that were checking bodies for any survivors. They were few and far between. Ronald Tadur was nearing the point of panic that he had just rescued Footlose from.

After less than a minute, the Army sergeant pushed his way onto the scene, followed by a large unit of Iraqi policemen. "Dusty! What are you doing here?"

Taken aback by the question, the Joe desert trooper moved past a crying woman over to another body. "I'm checking for survivors, sir. The rest of my team is moving any still able to walk down to the ambulances."

"That'll be enough for now. The police are here and will take over."

"But--."

"That'll be enough for now, Sergeant Tadur!" The Master Sergeant reached out his hand. "Please come with me, now."

Dusty looked down at the body lying on the ground before him, and bit his lip. Accepting the Sergeant's hand, he let himself be pulled up and walked out of the restaurant.

Footloose and Hit & Run stood at the street corner with the rest of the Army squad, looking almost as angry as Dusty.

Almost.

Once the group of American soldiers began walking again, the Sergeant spoke up again, "Look, I know that you three are probably all pretty pissed off at me right now, and I understand why. We all want to help the people at that bombing. But I have been given orders by my commanding officer to leave the situation up to the Iraqi police. We've been taking care of all of the Baghdad law enforcement for so long, that the Colonel thinks we need to let the Iraqi's take care of a few things by themselves."

"But we could at least help out a little." Said Hit & Run.

"We did." Replied the Sergeant. "We blocked off the city street, a move which will probably get me a serious verbal whiplash back at base. But I have a basic order that doesn't change anymore: if there is a terrorist bombing, and police have arrived at the area, I am ordered to return to base immediately."

"But over a dozen people just died back there!" barked Dusty. "I can't just leave that!"

"You're out of order! You may be a G.I. Joe, but on this day you are under my command." The Sergeant took a deep breath, and talked quietly, "If we answer all the questions for them, how will the Iraqi's ever pass the tests themselves?"

Slumped in defeat, the Joes looked back at the smoke, then turned around, trying to ignore the sirens and the screaming.

"Okay. Let's go."

"I'm sorry, Dusty. I hate it, too."

1.

"Looks like you got a little beat-up today."

Dusty leaned forward to see Flint walk into the injury-room at the Army Base. He always looked so chipper and bright with his Warrant Officer's uniform on, polished to perfection. His smile was said to be a lady-killer. Most G.I. Joe men just wanted to punch him when they saw it. Of course, he was second-in-command of the G.I. Joe ground forces, a fact that still boggled most Joe members. He was sharp, skilled and very bold, but he was also out-ranked by over a dozen men on the force, and he even out-ranked Duke, the ground-force leader. Nevertheless, he was numero-dos, and you couldn't help but be amazed at the guy.

"Hey, Flint."

The Joe Warrant Officer sat at the end of Dusty's bed. "You okay?" The look on his face told Dusty that he understood everything.

"I keep seeing the faces, Flint. I don't give a damn about what happened to me. I just wish…"

"That the faces could have moved one more time?"

"Yeah. I guess so." Dusty looked out the window.

"Hey, despite what happened, you did great, pal. You're a hero. I'm afraid there's going to be another medal for you guys." Flint braced himself for the reply.

"I don't want a medal for this!" A look of panic smacked the desert trooper's face. "S-sorry, sir."

Flint raised a hand. "That's all right. If I complain about your attitude today, what would that say about me?" Flint stood up. "Look, despite what happened, I have a request, Dusty: I need you for a mission."

"Sir, I—"

"The entire team of Joes that I need are here, and the only missing piece…is you. You are critical to the success of this mission."

"I was hoping for a couple of days to regain my wits, you know?"

Flint nodded. "I know. But we don't have a couple of days. We have just a few hours."

Dusty gulped some air and closed his eyes, but could only see faces. "Flint, I just can't—"

Flint held out his hand, and Dusty jumped. The Joe Warrant Officer pondered the action for a moment, then pulled his hand back. "Can you at least sit in on the briefing? After you hear what I need you for, you might just change your mind."

After thinking for a few seconds, Dusty asked, "What about Footloose and Hit & Run?"

"They're in."

Sergeant Ronald Tadur quivered and thought about why the other guys would join the mission. Perhaps because they hadn't been so close to the bodies as he had. Footloose was a real surprise. He seemed on the brink of insanity, but was still willing to test his limits once again. And Hit & Run? Hadn't he broken his ribs? If those guys were going to join the mission after suffering that much, then Dusty could to. He was a hero, after all.

Dammit.

"Okay, Flint. I'll listen."


	2. On the Road Again

**Chapter 2**

**On the Road Again**

Dusty looked around the room; it was packed. There had to be almost twenty G.I. Joes standing in that little cubical the Army had set aside for the team to use as a meeting area. G.I. Joe operations had to stay fairly "low-key" in Iraq, so they weren't allowed any of the few luxuries that the normal Army troops were offered—such as a nice briefing room.

A point of interest was the new guy. He wore modern desert fatigues and a wide-brimmed hat. His complexion was dark-tan and he was topped with black hair. His youthful age was obvious—a set of sunglasses hung from his chest pocket.

There were troops in the room that Dusty hadn't seen in months. Zap. Heavy Metal. Thunder. Those guys were old friends who unfortunately saw little action. But here they were. Dusty made it a point to go talk to them after the briefing was over.

Taking a seat next to Low-Light, Dusty just nodded. He couldn't have picked a better spot to sit. The Joe sniper wasn't much for conversation, and Dusty didn't feel much like talking.

Flint and Admiral Keel-Haul entered the room, and everyone snapped to attention. "At ease, men." Ordered Flint. The two officers stood at the sides of a large plasma monitor and dimmed the room's lights.

A map of Iraq popped up onto the screen, and Flint pointed at it with a stick. "I'm sure you all know this place." A few Joes laughed. Dusty began to squirm. "G.I. Joe has been kept out of the war here so far, because our mission is to protect the world against Cobra. Up until now, Cobra has kept out of the "War on Terror" as well. It's one of the few things we can respect the Cobra Commander for."

"Excuse me, sir," interrupted Spearhead, "Until now?"

"Until now." Responded Keel-Haul.

"Cobra is getting interested in deadly terrorism?" asked a shocked Lady Jaye.

"We're not sure." Answered Flint. "Usually, their schemes have centered around making a lot of money or dominating small nations, but never flat-out massacre."

"So what are they doing in Iraq?" asked Rock'nRoll.

"Selling weapons." Replied Flint.

Everybody's faces were slapped with shock. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I wish I were, Scimitar." Flint was talking to the new guy!

"This may not be a full-fledged Cobra operation," began the Admiral, "So far we only have this to go on." A pixilated image of Major Bludd appeared on the screen, engaged in conversation with some people that fit the general appearance of a terrorist; they were holding Cobra-style SAW-rifles.

"This was taken near the Syrian border just twenty-five hours ago. Now, we all know that the Major has worked on his own before, so maybe Cobra has nothing to do with this; but these are Cobra weapons, so a grander scheme is possible." Stated Flint.

"I'll be damned." Said Tunnel Rat.

"So what is our mission?" asked Stalker.

"First and foremost: reconnaissance." Said Keel-Haul, "Get out there and find the Major. I want to know if it's just his greedy scheme or an entire Cobra operation."

"And second?" asked Spirit.

Flint caught this one. "Second, we catch the Major, whether this is his idea or not. We cannot let him get away, understand? We can't let this scum-ball get away."

"But if it's a Cobra operation," continued Keel-Haul, "Get back to Baghdad ASAP and prepare for a return to the _FLAGG._ We'll be going to war against Cobra."

The last statement brought a hush to the room, but the Joe's Warrant Officer didn't want it to sink in too long. "Okay, men, here's the plan: we're going out into the Syrian Desert by a convoy of Joe vehicles. We won't take any of the Army's desperately needed supplies."

Flint changed the image on the screen to a tighter map of the western half of Iraq. "We're heading into the town of Ar Rutbah, smack dab in the middle of the Desert. It's about an eight-hour drive, given there are no surprises. But this is the western half of the country, near the Syrian border, so I would expect resistance if I were you. We'll check the town out, but we can't be rude about it."

Taking a drink of water, he continued: "From there, we'll cross open desert for five miles until we reach the town of Ubaylah. Ubaylah is where the photos of Bludd were taken. We'l scour the town and leave no stone unturned"

"Why would he choose that little town?" inquired Stalker.

"We believe that the Major is running his weapons out of Syria, but taking them northeast via the highway through Ubaylah." Answered Keel-Haul.

"And my part in the mission?" asked the Stealth pilot.

Dusty jumped. He hadn't even noticed the pilot standing in the corner of the room. That guy…whatever his name was—no one could ever remember it—sure could hide.

"Your part…uh…pilot, is to provide air support in case Cobra flies in any surprises or tries any fancy escapes. Keep your distance, but not too far."

"Yes, sir."

With a serious look on his face, Flint looked deeply at his Joe teammates. "I want you guys to remember something: this is a war-zone. This isn't some tropical paradise or empty glacial expanse that we can do whatever we want in. People are out there to kill us. This is more than just a Joe-Cobra skirmish. Much more. Don't let your guard down for a second."

Flint paused to collect his thoughts. "I know you guys can do it. I'm sorry to break you in on such a rough run, Scimitar, but this mission matches your skills perfectly. Remember, men—and lady—you're G.I. Joes, the best damn soldiers in the world. Just don't get cocky about it, hear me?"

A swarm of "Yes, sirs" filled the room.

"All right," said the Joe Warrant Officer as he clapped his hands together, "I want the convoy moving in two hours. Good luck, guys. Yo Joe!"

"Yo Joe!"

As the Joes walked out of the room, Flint walked up to Dusty. "So, are you in?"

"Yeah, I'm in."

1.

It made no sense. How could it be? In all of his experience as a G.I. Joe soldier, Dusty had never had this experience before: His canteen wouldn't fit onto his backpack.

Something in the main pack was pushing out against the canteen's attachment strap area, making connection impossible. Therefore, Dusty would have to unload his entire pack of supplies and repack, just so he could load his second canteen. Great, just great.

The Joe desert trooper began unpacking his supplies and slapping them to his bed, slowly increasing the intensity with which he slammed them onto the spring mattress. Eventually he grabbed the canteen and threw it into the wall, screaming in anger. Hunched over in broken frustration, Dusty began cussing.

A brisk knock began rapping at his door, but quickly slowed down. "Oh, geese. I'm sorry. I'll, uh, come back some other time."

Sniffing in frustration, Dusty stood back up. "No. No, it's all right. I'm sorry about that." He looked over and was surprised to see Scimitar standing in the doorway. "I…I just needed to get rid of a little stress." Walking over to pick up his canteen, Dusty asked, "What do you need?"

Scimitar cleared his throat and said, "Flint wanted me to hook up with you for the trip over. Seeing how we're both desert troops and all. I just wanted to introduce myself, you see…uh…yeah."

Dusty could feel his cheeks burn red. "Well, didn't _I_ make a great first impression?"

Scimitar took a step forward and offered his hand. Dusty wouldn't take it. "Hey, I read your report. If I went through what you went through, I'd be in worse shape. You're a real troop, man."

The Joe's original desert trooper turned back around and quickly stuffed his backpack. His canteen still wouldn't fit. "Look, let's just get out of here, all right?"

"All right. Sounds good."

Outside, once again in the blaring Middle-Eastern heat, stood the convoy of G.I. Joe vehicles. Dusty swung his backpack over his shoulder and carried his canteen in his hand as he walked past the row of powerful machines which covered many generations of the G.I. Joe history.

With the hood of the VAMP jeep popped up, Clutch was hunched over the radiator, cranking a wrench and cussing his head off. It was a surprise that the Joe team still used a vehicle twenty-five years old in design, but the aged features were only on the outside. Clutch kept it state-of-the-art on performance for two-point-five decades, and there was no way he would ever give it up. The VAMP was painted desert tan, but it still held its heavy machine guns, not the missile launchers typical of the VAMP mark II.

Behind the VAMP was the G.I. Joe Hammer. Not much different than a Hum-V, it could only brag about small missile launchers attached to the rear and rather awkward heavy machine-gun turrets added to the sides. Thankfully, the turrets were removed from this Hammer, leaving only the roof machine-gun turret and the missiles. Another difference unique to this Hammer—doors were added to the sides. This was obviously a protection maneuver against roadside bombings. All-in-all, the large jeep hardly looked like a Hammer anymore, save the excessive missile launchers in the rear.

Flint walked up to Dusty and Scimitar by the Hammer. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. All ready to go?"

"As ready as we can be." Said Dusty."

"Absolutely sir!" cheered Scimitar.

Flint smiled and shook his head. "Okay then. You two ride in the Hammer with me, Rock'n'Roll and Lady Jaye. Just toss your stuff in the back."

As Scimitar walked around to the rear, Dusty smiled at Flint. "So, if Lady Jaye is with us, I guess I can't call shotgun."

Flint grinned. "At ease, soldier."

The rear of the Hammer was pretty full, but Dusty managed to squeeze his backpack in. Unfortunately, after it was put in, there wasn't enough room even for a canteen. "Dammit!" growled the desert trooper.

Footloose and Hit & Run walked by the Hammer and stopped to talk to Dusty. "How are you doing?" asked Footloose.

"I…I'm okay. How are you? I thought your ribs were cracked, Hit & Run."

"Nah. I was just banged pretty hard. Hospital doctor saws I better avoid any more hits in the chest for a while, though." Hit & Run gave a tough-guy smile.

"Are you really okay, Dusty? I've been a little shook up." Confessed Footloose.

"Look, I said I'm fine." Seeing the negative effect of his comment, Dusty sighed. "We'll talk about this later, okay?" Footloose nodded consent, and he and Hit & Run walked down the convoy.

After throwing the water container onto the back seat, Dusty looked at the rest of the vehicles. Behind the Hammer sat the massive APC. It was the only normal-looking Joe vehicle large enough to haul a large group of Joes from one point to the next, although Dusty did not envy the heat the guys inside would have to endure.

"All right, guys, let's get going!" called out Flint. All of the Joes began climbing into their vehicles.

Curious about what was behind the APC, Dusty took a quick step to the side and looked down the row. Behind the troop transport sat a fuel truck, and behind that, at the tail of the convoy, was a Mauler. The Joe's sleek desert-colored tank carried an appearance not much different from an M1A1 Abrams tank. Despite the similarities, the Mauler was far from an exact copy of an Abrams, and even more expensive to build. It was an impressive machine to see in battle, but Dusty actually hoped that he wouldn't have to see it in action anytime soon.

"C'mon, Dusty! Get in!" ordered Lady Jaye.

Snapped back to attention, the Joe desert trooper swung the door open, hunched over and quickly crawled into the huge jeep. "Sorry about that. Just enjoyin' the view."

Flint grabbed the radio microphone and spoke, "All right, Joes, start 'em up, and roll out!"

The engines powered up into a near deafening roar. After a minute of warm-up, the VAMP began a crawl towards the front gates, which slowly creaked open. It was soon followed by the Hammer, the APC, the fuel truck and the Mauler.

The faces of the people standing along the roadways, staring at the convoy as it moved along, were difficult to interpret. Many of the children cheered, but the adults stared, with a stale look on their face. Were they supportive or mad? It was too difficult to call.

After a couple of miles, Dusty couldn't look out the window anymore.


	3. Road Stop

**Chapter 3**

**Road Stop**

Moving in a convoy can be very, very sluggish stuff; especially when you have to keep your speed around 40mph for the sake of a tank and an APC's engine. It was just over 240 miles to Ar Rutbah from Baghdad, but you couldn't just straight-shoot it. The vehicles would needeto be refueled from time to time, and that was going to be a slow process, but that wasn't even the worst of it.

After about forty-five minutes, the Joe convoy approached Fallujah. Signs of destruction littered the sides of the roads, and very few people braved the city streets. Near the outskirts of the city, a US Army blockade brought the Joes to a halt. An officer walked up to the VAMP, but Clutch pointed him back to the Hammer.

"What's the situation, Captain?" asked Flint as he lowered the window.

"Can I see your orders?"

"Absolutely." Lady Jaye handed them to Flint, and he passed them on. The Captain's eyes bugged out.

"Damn. You guys are them G.I. Joes we're always hearing about?" The Captain returned the papers.

"Yes, sir. We're on special assignment, and need to get through here."

Shaking his head, the Captain pointed to the blockade. "Afraid I can't do that. There's been a series of assaults on the northwestern side of the city. We've got the whole place boxed up and not lettin' a single soul in our out."

Flint began tapping his fingers. "What if we helped clean up the insurgents?"

"Flint, no…" whispered Lady Jaye.

Tilting his helmet back, the Captain replied, "You do that, I'll push your pretty vehicles through town myself!" Standing back up, the officer started directing his men.

"This could interfere with our mission, Flint." Stated Lady Jaye.

"I know, but we don't have much of a choice." Turning around, the Joe Warrant Officer directed orders to the Joe desert troopers. "Get back to the APC. Tell everybody to get ready for action."

"Yes, sir." Said Dusty, who quickly jumped out of the Hammer and ran back. This time, Scimitar seemed bothered.

"Are you all right, Scimitar?" asked Lady Jaye.

"Yeah. Yeah. Sorry, I'm on my way." The Joe newbie climbed out and walked to the APC.

Rock'n'Roll looked down from the turret and asked the Joes in the front seats, "What's eating him?"

1.

It took all of Dusty's emotional strength to run through the streets of Fallujah. The city was far different from Baghdad: it was a wreck, barely able to call itself a city anymore. Terrorists had been using Fallujah as a stronghold for so long that a common person could not live in piece any longer. Bullet-holes littered the sides of buildings, while the sides of those buildings often littered the city streets. No matter how many times the US Army chased them out, the weasels always seemed to come back, hungrier than ever.

The Joes walked through the streets, staying close to the sides of buildings, and occasionally hunching over. Following the lead of a pair of Army Infantrymen, they quickly made their way up to the heart of the conflict. Light gunfire echoed through the air, along with faint screaming.

The Joes came to a parking area that had a fairly hidden view of a worn-down office-building in the distance. Two soldiers were already at the parking lot, keeping an eye on the building with large rifle scopes.

"That is where the terrorists are hiding?" asked Spirit.

"Yes, sir." Replied one of the soldiers. "They've been caged up in that building for the past forty-eight hours, and shooting at anything coming within a quarter mile of it. There's a pretty thick ring of defense around that place in the streets. It's a hell of a fight to get near that building, and then once you do, you can't get in."

Dusty looked through the grates of a very heavy fence to see and examine the large, cubical structure nearly half-a-mile away. Thick as an ancient temple, it carried the appearance of a fortress rather than an office building. It was strewn with damage, and even leaked smoke from windows on the northern and eastern sides.

"Are there any US troops around there now?" inquired Footloose.

"Yes. They've been hiding themselves on the northeastern side of the building and staying quiet. We could use a little help getting them out."

The level of patriotism boiling in Flint's blood was obvious. Surprisingly, he turned to someone else. "Any ideas, Stalker? You've seen more of this kind of stuff than any of us." Flint's question referred to the G.I. Joe ranger's extensive work in Africa and Southeast Asia, as well as a brief run through Central America. He had seen it all, and if you didn't respect that, his stories would change your mind.

"Two teams, one for the troops, the other for the building. There's enough of us to risk it."

"Sounds a little too SWAT-like, Stalker." Remarked Tunnel Rat.

"It's the way I'd do it. We don't have time for a grand battle strategy here."

Flint thought for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. First team: Spirit, Lady Jaye, Dusty, Spearhead, Footloose, Hit & Run and me. We'll go after the troops. Second team: Stalker, Low-Light, Rock'n'Roll, Zap, Pathfinder, Scimitar and Tunnel Rat. You guys take the building. Any questions? Good. Stay sharp. We can do this if we work as teams. Yo Joe."

"Yo Joe." Everyone made sure to keep the battlecry quiet.

Agreeing to relay the plan to the captain, the Army Corporal moved off. The other soldiers remained at the parking lot.

2.

Despite the annoyance of red-hot, cracked concrete and broken walls spread throughout the city that impeded a straight run, the Joe team made good time northeast of the building.

Walking along through the street, Dusty checked his FAMAS. Pulling out the clip, he noticed that it wasn't quite full. Trying to not think about why, he pulled out another clip from his backpack and slapped it into place.

Footloose walked up next to Dusty, "A little too familiar, eh, pal?"

"Yeah. At least the crowd isn't a factor this time."

Footloose looked up into the sky with a smile, "Hey…we get through this, I'm gonna throw you the biggest party you ever saw."

Dusty put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "You don't need to be doing that. Just promise me something."

"Uh-oh. I don't like promises, bud."

"Then just give an agreement to try."

Footloose smiled in his cooky way once again. "Okay, I'll bite that. I'll give you an agreement to try….what?"

"Cover my ass out here." Dusty continued, "In turn I'll make sure you're okay."

The former hippie looked a little concerned, but gave a slight nod, "Okay, okay, man. I'll watch out for you."

"Thanks." The two friends were quiet for a few minutes.

Flint pointed to a street corner, "There's where we need to go, but it looks really damn scary. Let's get our rifles up and walk with caution. Choose your targets wisely, but choose quickly."

With their rifles now up to eye level, and every Joe wearing a helmet, whether it was their normal get-up or not, the team crept around the street corner and softly made their way west down the narrow, dust-covered street. The sun was in their eyes, and the short width of the roadway made this area a perfect spot to pick off any intruders.

"I don't like this." Said Footloose.

"Shut up, man." Snapped back Hit & Run.

"No, really, I mean I _really_ don't like this. I can't shake the feeling we're walking into a trap."

"Shut the hell up!" snarled the light infantryman again.

Flint stopped walking. "You know, I think I actually agree with Footloose for once." He raised his hand. "Everybody stop. Let's get out of here, but we have to back up." The team began a rewind their movements of just a few moments before, moving as fast as they could eastward down the street...

Until screams of Arabic echoed through the air. Looking down the road, the Joes saw flashes of AK-47 machine-gun fire pop out from around a far street corner. Spearhead was hit and fell backwards to the ground.

"Spearhead!" cried Lady Jaye as she leapt behind him and began pulling his body off of the road. Flint and Footloose opened fire first on the distant shooter, but missed him as he ran back around the street corner.

Windows began to shatter as more terrorists revealed their firing positions along the road and opened up. It was a good thing that the Joes hadn't gone any farther down the street: most of the terrorists were set up at the other end of the city block. Their strategy was obviously to get their opponents farther down the road to a point of no retreat, then finish them off.

Amidst a rain of bullets, the Joes kept their cool and sprinted for the sidewalk. Flint grabbed Spearhead's arm, and in unison with Lady Jaye, pulled him off of the street.

The destruction in the city was actually a saving grace for the Joe team. A heavily damaged car sitting on the sidewalk provided a small amount of cover for the Joes to regroup and regain their senses—but the bullets were eating it up.

"Hit & Run!" called Flint.

"Yeah?" replied the light infantryman.

"I need you to draw their fire!"

Hit & Run looked nervous, but then drew upon the inner courage that made him a G.I. Joe trooper. "Where do I go?"

Flint nodded down the street. "Back where that first shooter was. If you run at him, they'll all chase you. If you see him, take him out, but be careful about rounding that corner!"

"Yes, sir!" Hit & Run swung his XM-15 sub-machine-gun into position and crouched onto his knees. As he said a quick prayer, a chunk of brick cracked off of the wall behind him, and acted as his cue to take off.

Hit & Run was by far the Joe's fastest runner. He was small, lean and packed with durability. His abilities revolved around his gift of speed; and today, the ability to fire a gun while sprinting let itself shine.

Scrambling down the street, no longer protected by the sidewalk, the Joe light infantryman ran the hardest that he had ever run before. Immediately, the terrorists began chasing him with rapid blasts from their AK-47's, but were always a step behind. Quickly, the temptation to hit the little Joe obsessed the hidden shooters, and they lost attention to the threats rising out from behind the pulverized four-door sedan.

Having the first clear shot, Flint nailed a hidden shooter still firing at Hit & Run. Lady Jaye quickly followed, hitting another terrorist leaning out of a window frame. His body crashed to the ground. Snapped back into reality, the remaining terrorists turned back to the Joes, but it was too late; they were picked off by Footloose and Spirit.

Hit & Run reached the street corner, and was met face to face by the first terrorist, who was surprised to see an American troop already at the end of the street. The infantryman laid him down quickly with a brief burst of fire, but the momentum from his running carried him around the corner. As he rounded it, he cried out in panic.

Dusty pointed down the street. "Something's happening down there to Hit & Run!"

"Move it!" ordered Flint. Lady Jaye stayed with Spearhead, but the rest of the team sprinted down the street. Just before they could reach the end of the block, the intersection exploded. Being closest to the explosion, Flint and Spirit were knocked onto their backs. Dusty and Footloose were shaken, but managed to stay up.

Determined to save Hit & Run, the pair of Joes rounded the corner, and found a pair of terrorists loading an RPG. Hit & Run was laying face-first on the ground with his hands on his head. Dusty carefully aimed his FAMAS at the panic-stricken terrorists…and started shaking. Squinting his eyes, the Joe desert trooper began to sweat more from indecision than the heat; but when the RPG was swung into firing position, the desert trooper's hand clenched.

After a few moments, Hit & Run looked up. "Did you get 'em?"

Dusty lowered his gun and reached down for his friend, thanking God that he was still alive. "Yeah. I got 'em."


	4. DownSizing

**Chapter 4**

**Down-Sizing**

Settling behind a pile of rubble nearly a hundred yards away, the second team of Joes examined the southern side of the broken office building. It wasn't tall; only three floors, but it had alleys surrounding it, and very few entrances. The only door on the first floor was on the right half of the wall; on the left side sat a dumpster.

"That red door looks like our only choice." Said Tunnel Rat.

"We're being watched." Noticed Low-Light.

"What?" Rock'n'Roll could never accept the Joe sniper's incredible eyesight.

"Second floor. Dead center." Low-Light set up his rifle and stared through its massive scope.

"How many and what are they carrying?" asked Stalker.

"Three. Couple 47s and an RPG."

"Damn."

"RPG doesn't have a sure shot at this range. I don't think he wants to risk wasting a shot." Low-Light cocked his rifle.

"You got him lined up?" asked Rock'n'Roll.

"Yup." Low-Light pulled the trigger, kicking his gun a bit, then quickly re-cocked it. Pathfinder quickly looked through his binoculars.

"Think you got him?"

"Yup. Can't get the rifles. They pulled back inside."

"All right," said Stalker, "Let's get going before they get the balls to come back out to the ledge." The Joes jumped over the rubble and ran for the terrorist stronghold. Halfway to the building, in the parking lot of a gas station, the Joes dove for cover behind a bus. A machine-gunner had come back to the window ledge and started shooting.

"Now what?" asked Tunnel Rat.

Stalked turned around. "Everybody pop out around the left side of the bus and start shooting. Zap, you step out from behind the right side and take him out with your bazooka."

"Yes, sir."

Once the firing stopped, Stalker cried out, "He's reloading, go!"

The Joes jumped out and started firing, but had difficulties hitting the gunner from fifty yards away. In only moments, the terrorist began returning fire with the assistance of an ally armed with another AK-47.

"Damn it! What's Zap waiting for?" growled Tunnel Rat.

Almost on cue, a thunderous bang echoed through the air as a small rocket was launched from the right side of the bus, and quickly smashed into the third-floor position of the terrorist gunners. As the explosion sent debris and smoke spurting from the building, Stalker knew that it was a good time to run, whether the shooters were still alive or not.

Often stumbling over gravel and fallen scrap, the team sprinted for the building. Scimitar reached the door first, and waited for the rest of the team to arrive.

"So, Stalker. Now that we're here, how do we get in?" asked Tunnel Rat.

"Well, seein' how they already know that we're here, I think the best thing to do is the tactic we used back in Cambodia."

"What's that?"

Stalker lifted up his leg, and smashed in the door. Machine gun fire quickly followed, and the G.I. Joe ranger swung back around the doorway.

"That's your great strategy?" snarled Tunnel Rat.

"Didn't work in Cambodia, either."

"Let's try mine." Offered Zap. Pulling out the pin of a grenade, he tossed it into the doorway. Amidst a chaotic rush of Arabic cries of panic, the grenade exploded. The Joes ran into the entrance and opened fire. Any person not already killed by the grenade was soon put to rest by Joe bullets.

A short distance from the door was a stairway, and to the left was a hallway. Stalker pointed to it, "Zap, Rock'n'Roll: come with me up the stairs. Tunnel Rat, Scimitar, Pathfinder: find another way up." The group split and moved as fast as was reasonable through the building.

After less than a minute, Tunnel Rat found another stairway at the far end of the hall. There was no more resistance on the first floor. Stalker's group scrambled up the stairs, but cautiously stepped out onto the second floor. Panic-stricken talk reverberated down the hall, and the Joe ranger waved his team towards the source.

A terrorist walked unknowingly out into the hall, but quickly saw the Joes, screamed with fear and dove back into the room he had just exited. At the far end of the hall, Tunnel Rat's group crept onto the floor. Stalker pointed upwards. Tunnel Rat reversed back to the stairway and continued up to the third floor.

What was once a fountain of babble, was now a tomb of silence. Stalker knew that just standing in the hall would achieve nothing, so he cautiously took a step forward…creaking the floor horribly. In the silence, even the softest sound was amplified to deafening levels.

Stalker's saving grace was the worst kind of all.

Gunfire from the third floor thundered through the building. Taking the only chance they had, the Joe team charged forward, but before they could reach the right-side doorway, Stalker stopped the group two feet away from the door. Once the fire from the third floor died down, he used the barrel of his M-32 to tap the wall. Heavy bursts of fire began tearing up the wall next to the door, right where a Joe would normally have been standing if he was waiting to get in. As soon as the shooting stopped, Stalker ran to the room and swung ninety-degrees, then began shooting at all possible targets.

"Stalker, drop!" barked Rock'n'Roll. The Joe ranger fell onto his chest as the Joe machine-gunner stepped up and aimed in the opposite direction, then fired into the room on the left side of the hall. A loud thump could be heard moments later.

Stalker stood back up, brushing himself off. "Thanks, Rock. I owe you one." The ranger looked into the other room. "How did you know he was in there?"

"Didn't. Just figured he was. Don't these kind of guys always have someone covering their backs?"

With an awkward curve to his smile, Stalker nodded. "Yeah. Yeah they do."

Tunnel Rat entered the hall from the stairway. "You guys all right? Sounded pretty heavy down here."

"Yeah." Replied Stalker, "Sounds like you guys saw a little action, too."

"Not really." Explained Pathfinder. "One guy survived Zap's shot, and took a couple vengeful shots, but he was too hurt to aim straight."

"Glad to hear it." Stalker sighed, relieved that it was all over, for now.

1.

"Well, look who's always showing up late!" poked Stalker as Flint's group came slowly walking through the re-opened blockade.

Raising his hand in a wave, the warrant officer grinned as his team reached the vehicles and crashed to the ground in fatigue. "How long have you guys been here?"

"Only about ten minutes. The guys are in the APC resting. I figured I should look better than you and wait out here."

"Asshole."

"That's _better-than-you_ ass-hole." Corrected Stalker.

"Yeah, yeah. Hey, we had fifteen injured soldiers to move."

"We helped clean out the bodies from the office building. We didn't exactly loaf around." Stalker took a swig from his canteen, then handed it to Flint, who quickly snatched it.

"Anybody get hurt?" asked the warrant officer.

"Nope. We lucked out. How about you?"

Flint sighed. "Spearhead got one through the shoulder, but it's clean. I'm not going to pull him. He can still man a turret or even shoot a light rifle."

"That's good. He's a good pointman."

Flint coughed, then asked, "Where's Clutch?"

"Over here." G.I. Joe's veteran jeep driver walked over to Flint, who was now passionately drinking Stalker's water.

Wiping his lips, Flint asked, "Are the vehicles ready to go?"

"Of course they are. You think I'm lazy or something? I've got the VAMP ready, Thunder has the APC ready and Heavy Metal has the Mauler up and running. I even took care of your precious Hammer."

"Oh god," Flint hunched over, "I forgot that I have to drive that thing. Damn." Standing back up he called over to his team. "C'mon guys, let's group at the back of the APC."

The Joes groaned as they moved to the rear of the lengthy vehicle. Once there, Flint spoke up. "Okay, guys, we're all exhausted, but we're also on a schedule. It's dangerous, but I'm going to let you sleep in shifts over the next couple of hours. The drivers are fine, which is why we left them out of the fights, but we're wasted. Anybody that isn't sleeping needs to stay awake, and stay sharp. We've got a long way to go, and we can't forget where we are."

Murmurs of agreement and head nods ensued. The Joes soon took their vehicle positions. After Flint thought up a sleep shift, the convoy began to creep forward, and slowly made its way through Fallujah. A shower of appreciation rained from the Army soldiers assigned throughout the city.

2.

Back on the highway, Lady Jaye spoke to Flint. "You know, there's no way that we got rid of every terrorist in that city."

Flint stared forward with a poker-face. "I never said that we did. We'd be fools to even try, considering what little time we have."

"It just makes me feel guilty to leave that burden on those Army troops."

"Look, those are Special Forces troops; they know their jobs. Most of them are just as good if not better than we are. If you think about it, what gives G.I. Joe the edge isn't the quality of its troops, it's our customized, fancy weapons. Take those away and we're not much different than those Special Forces."

"How can you say that? It can take years to be approved for G.I. Joe. You have to be an absolutely incredible soldier to be a Joe. Look at Stalker. He's seen more action than everyone in this jeep, _combined._ He still uses his old M-32 machine gun. Do you think his edge comes from his weapon? I sure don't."

Flint thought for a few moments, then conceded, "Okay, there are plenty of super-troops in our team, such as Stalker, Snake-Eyes and Duke. I just feel that we need to tighten this team up; make sure the missile-shooters and computer-hackers can keep themselves alive in an environment such as this. Cobra's been a pretty sloppy opponent for a long time, now. I just want to know: when we're put into a war-zone, can all of our team take the stress?"

Lady Jaye shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I really don't know."

Dusty wasn't asleep, although he was on the sleep shift. His eyes couldn't keep themselves from staring out the window. It was a different view than Baghdad. There was more death and destruction in this city. But as the desert trooper analyzed the surroundings, he noticed people emerging from grocery stores and apartment buildings. The Joes had offered them a chance to live again, at least for a short time.

Perhaps all the suffering was worth it after all.

Dusty closed his eyes.

3.

Five miles west of Fallujah, the convoy passed a row of cars racing east back towards the city.

"I don't like the look of that." Said Lady Jaye.

"What was wrong?" asked Flint.

"They seemed eager to get away from us."

"Hmm…"

"Hey, Flint." Called down Rock'n'Roll.

"Speak to me!"

Pointing to the northwest, the machine gunner spoke loud, "There's a car parked out in the field over there, behind a big lump of dirt."

Flint looked over, then quickly grabbed his radio phone, "Clutch! Hit your brakes! This is an—!"

The explosion drowned out the end of his sentence.


	5. The Long Road

**Chapter 5**

**The Long Road**

Slamming the brakes of the Hammer, Flint watched in horror as the front right side of the VAMP was lifted into the air by a ball of fire, dust and smoke. The small, sleek jeep rolled across the road until it crashed over the edge of the southern side. Shrapnel and dust began peltering the hood and roof of the massive jeep under Flint's command.

"Dammit all to hell!" screamed the Joe warrant officer. Rock'n'Roll dropped to his knees into the Hammer, attempting to avoid debirs fliying through the air from the explosion. Screeches from the APC and even the Mauler could be distinctly heard from behind.

In less than fifteen seconds, machine gun fire, no doubt from AK-47s, began rapping against the armored doors of the Hammer. Windows began to crack and the Joes ducked even farther down.

Flint screamed into the microphone he still held in his right hand, "Thunder! Do something about that fire, now!"

In mere moments, a mechanical hum could be heard as the APC's 50mm cannon rotated into a firing position. As it fired, the Hammer shook even more. The dust barrier that protected the terrorists during their ambush exploded in a large puff of dirt. Although helpful, the APC's fire only reduced the machine-gun fire from the northern side. The southern fire seemed to increase. Windows began to break apart, and bullets flew through the Hammer.

Firing again, the APC caused another brutal smash against the northern pack of terrorists, who began running for their lives. Machine-gun fire from the rear of the Joe troop carrier could be heard as team members disembarked and opened fire on the southern group of ambushing terrorists.

With the enemy now locked in panicked sprints for their lives, the battle was over. After fighting with the handle, Spirit swung open the Hammer's front left door. "Is everyone okay?"

Flint sat back up, and analyzed the situation. "Yeah, I think so. Are you all okay?"

Lady Jaye sat up, nodding. "Yes…yes I think so."

Dusty spoke for both he and Scimitar, who looked a little too shook up to speak. "We're okay, Flint."

"Good." Flint jumped out of the jeep and was quickly followed by Lady Jaye and Dusty. The mission leader raced for the VAMP, where Tunnel Rat and Stalker were pulling Clutch and Pathfinder's bodies away from the burning wreckage.

"Oh, no." gasped Lady Jaye.

"Are they alive?" asked Flint.

"Yes." Replied Stalker. "But they aren't going to make it unless they're airlifted back to Baghdad immediately.

Flint turned to Dusty and pointed at the Hammer, "Get on the radio and call in a MEDEVAC."

Without even giving a reply, Dusty sprinted back to the jeep.

"Sons-of-." Growled Rock'n'Roll.

"There is no time for that, now," said Spirit, "We must prepare our friends for their flight back."

While Clutch and Pathfinder were carried to the APC, Flint dropped to one knee and stared in silence at the VAMP.

1.

As the wind from the departing medical helicopters ruffled his cowl and blew sand in his eyes, Dusty couldn't keep his eyes off of Flint. Their experiences were totally different, but just as devastating. Ronald Tadur no longer felt alone.

Footloose broke Dusty's concentration by pointing to the Hammer. "What's with Scimitar? He's just standing over there, all by himself."

Figuring that he should just leave Flint alone, Dusty walked over to the Hammer. "What's up, newbie?"

"Huh? Oh, hi Dusty."

"Hi Dusty? That's a pretty weak greeting." Scimitar got a light punch in the shoulder. He seemed to have trouble thinking of anything to say, so Dusty continued. "These battles bothering you?"

A touch of panic spread across Scimitar's face, but he risked talking, "Yeah. I…I didn't think this is how it would be."

Frowning, Dusty asked, "How being a Joe would be?"

Before Scimitar could answer, Flint called out, "All right everybody, let's get back into our vehicles. Thunder says the Hammer is working again, so we're still going to use it. It's going to be night-time very soon, now, but we're running way behind, so we're truckin' it until morning."

A few Joes groaned. "Don't worry," assured Flint, "We'll sleep in shifts. Okay, let's go."

As the team loaded up, Dusty made it a point to talk to Scimitar later.

2.

The next few hours were refreshingly peaceful. Only an occasional eighteen wheeler or an oil tanker-truck passed the G.I. Joe convoy. Cold night-time winds blew into the Hammer as the windowless jeep rolled down the lonely desert highway.

There were only brief slow downs as the team passed through the towns of Ar Ramadi and Muhammadiyah. About twenty miles past Muhammadiyah, Dusty took control of the steering wheel and Flint slept in the back seat. Lady Jaye slept in the seat next to him. Scimitar took the shotgun seat and Tunnel Rat came up to man the turret while Rock'n'Roll caught some Z's in the APC. Dusty would have killed to get some music to listen to, but that would have been just rude to even try.

"So, how long have you been a Joe?" whispered Scimitar.

"More years than I can recall." Anwered Dusty. Realizing the answer was true, he suddenly felt very old.

"Is it what you've always wanted?"

"Most of the time. If G.I. Joe hadn't been formed, Cobra would be ten times the threat that it is today." Dusty started thinking about some favorite memories. Scimitar looked across the desert for a few moments, the turned back.

"But G.I. Joe is just supposed to fight Cobra, right? Not Middle-Eastern insurgents." Scimitar looked a bit spiteful.

Dusty wasn't sure what the answer was to this question. "Well, we're supposed to fight all kinds of terrorism. Sure, our main focus is Cobra, but if anybody tries to suppress the innocent, we should deal with them."

Scimitar shook his head. "I…I didn't join this group to fight anyone but Cobra."

Tunnel Rat, who was standing in between the two, hearing everything, interrupted, "Buddy, if you think this is all just an "Anti-Cobra" operation, you read the application form upside down or something. We're an anti-terrorism operation, but first and foremost, we're an extension of the US Armed Forces. If they say take a dump and eat it, we start licking our lips!"

"That's enough, Tunnel Rat." Growled Dusty. "Look, if you've got problems, go talk to Doc when this mission is over. He's got the best ears and the biggest heart in the whole group."

Still looking a little unsure of himself, Scimitar nodded and gave a thankful smile, "Thanks Dusty. I think maybe I will."

3.

The next three hours were frighteningly quiet. There were no more towns to pass through, and less and less traffic as the night dragged on. Intense heat from earlier in the day surrendered to the sky, leaving only colder and colder desert night air behind.

Keeping track of their progress by using a Global Positioning System, Dusty brought the convoy to a halt exactly ten miles east of Ar Rutbah. Flint woke up, stretched, yawned and asked, " Are we there yet?"

"Yup. Right where you told me to stop." Replied Dusty.

"Good. Damn its cold." Flint scratched himself and opened the Hammer's door. "Let's get out and refuel the vehicles."

Tunnel Rat turned to Lady Jaye. "Is he always this pretty when he wakes up?"

Lady Jaye looked offended, but then decided to play it a step further, "You should smell him in the morning."

Groaning in repulsion, the other Joes quickly exited the Hammer as Lady Jaye laughed, then put her hand on her forehead, regretting her double-edged attempt at humiliating Flint.

Spearhead brought the fuel truck around to the rear of the Mauler, and Heavy Metal hooked up the fuel hose. Moments later, the big brown tank began drinking.

"That thing is gonna use up half of the fuel." Complained Footloose.

"Well, if you'd rather leave it behind, I'm sure Flint would let you stay here and stand guard until we return." Snapped Rock'n'Roll.

"Drink up, big buddy!" cheered the Joe infantryman.

After an hour the three vehicles were fully refueled, and the diesel truck's tank was almost completely depleted. Flint once again called the team together at the rear of the APC.

"Okay, guys, things have changed a little bit. Since the Hammer got chewed up by the terrorist ambush outside Fallujah, I don't feel that it's the best vehicle to lead the strike with. Therefore, the Mauler will now lead the strike, followed by the APC, with the Hammer pulling up the rear. I'm going to join the guys on the big truck, and lead the strike from there. Heavy Metal, remember, we're not just blasting into town; we're there for recon, first.

"Dusty, Spirit: you guys will join Lady Jaye and me on a walk down the main street. Tunnel Rat, Footloose, take the alleys behind the left buildings. Stalker, Hit & Run: you guys take the right side. The rest of you stay with the vehicles and keep your ears open."

"Yes, sir!" came out in unison, then the Joes climbed back into their vehicles and the convoy shifted into its new formation. Dusty kept control of the Hammer, with only Scimitar and Tunnel Rat as passengers.

Not knowing whether to be happy or nervous about gaining control of the big Joe jeep, Dusty pressed down the accelerator and followed the rest of the team west, even farther into the Syrian Desert.

4.

It only took fifteen minutes to reach the small town of Ar Rutbah. Small, built of brick and concrete, it couldn't brag of many modern features. Power lines, sagging along tilted wooden towers, ran the length of the dirt road that passed through the humble, but vitally important outpost resting out in the middle of nowhere.

The roar of the Mauler no doubt woke up quite a few locals. Vibrations of the gravel on the ground reflected the shaking up of people's homes. A few lights began to turn on in those small homes along the edge of town.

Stopping at the edge of the town center, the convoy sprang to life as G.I. Joe team members jumped down from the APC or climbed out of the Hammer. Flint pointed the groups in their directions and everyone moved quickly. There wasn't far to go, but it would take a little time, since accuracy was an important factor.

As Flint's group charged down the street, they shone flashlights into every window they passed. Windows were few and far between on the brown brick walls, but not absent. The teams walking the backside of the buildings had even fewer windows to look through, and a lot more rubble and garbage to maneuver through. Their progress was slow, but steady.

After a few minutes, a man wearing his long white robe, or _dishdasha_, and wrapping on his _ghutra_, or "head-cloth," came storming out into the street to confront Flint. The Joe Warrant Officer was impressed that the Iraqi recognized which soldier had the highest rank. He was even more impressed when he spoke in fairly clean English.

"Why you invade Ar Rutbah this night? We have done no harm!" raged the man.

"Pardon me, sir, but our business is very important." Explained Flint. "Are you the Mayor?"

"Yes! Yes, I am Mayor! American Army leave Ar Rutbah two weeks ago. Why do you now return?" The mayor looked with deep concern at the Mauler.

"We have reports of terrorists smuggling weapons into Iraq through this town. What do you know about this?"

The mayor shook his head violently. "No! No! Nothing I know. Much traffic through Ar Rutbah every day. Cannot know what is in all the trucks. I assure you, smuggling is not my knowledge."

Flint nodded, then looked around. "Is it all right if we look around your town tonight."

The Mayor was obviously a man who had played this game before. He knew that there was really no way that he could get what he wanted out of the deal, so he just conceited. "Yes. Please, be fast, and do not hurt my people."

"Thank you, sir." Flint lifted his beret in a flash of courtesy, then continued down the street. Lady Jaye stepped up to his side.

"I think that this town is clean, Flint."

"Me too. He had nothing to hide. And besides, the road through this town is almost a direct-line between Iraq and Syria. Cobra, even Major Bludd wouldn't be stupid enough to conduct his business here. He would keep it a few miles off the road, then swing it down."

"Like from Ubaylah." Deduced Lady Jaye.

"Bingo." Flint stopped walking then turned around. "Even if this town is clean, it probably has Cobra spies in it, reporting to Major Bludd." Sighing, the Warrant Officer began a brisk walk back to the convoy. "Let's get out of here as quickly as possible."

As he passed the Mayor, he apologized for any inconveniences, but knew that that wouldn't help one bit.

After the team had regrouped at the convoy, Flint once again fed them all a new game plan, "Okay, on to our second plan. It's my opinion that Ar Rutbah is clean, so, we move on to stage two. We're now jumping off of the road and rolling over open desert ground, but for only about five or six miles. Then we'll reach Ubaylah, and I'll be damned if that isn't where Major Bludd isn't hiding."

"Hey, Flint?" interrupted Spearhead.

"What?"

"I don't think this fuel truck will make it over the open desert. All this dirt road it's been traveling over has really broken it down."

Waving it off in disinterest, Flint adapted, "Fine. We've got enough diesel in the vehicles to make it there and back again. Let's just hope no one steals the truck while we're gone. Let's get going, Joes. The road trip is over. No we're getting back to the hard stuff."

Since Flint didn't do it, Rock'n'Roll figured he'd start the battlecry, "Yo Joe!"

As the team cheered in response, a few more lights turned on throughout the town of Ar Rutbah.


	6. Showdown

**Chapter 6**

**Showdown**

No desert is exactly the same; each one has its own unique landscapes, sites and features. One feature that the Syrian Desert pounded against the G.I. Joe convoy of vehicles was its gravel-strewn terrain. Rocks were constantly kicked up by the Mauler into the APC, and more sent from the APC into the already heavily-beaten Hammer. Thankfully, the rocky terrain made for a sturdy ride, without any of the troubles often suffered during travels through the sandy Saharan or Saudi Arabian desert regions.

Scimitar still looked bothered by his emotions, and Dusty wished that he could talk to him, but there just wasn't enough time to start a conversation. Ubaylah, also called _Wadi Ubaylah_, after the large _wadi_—or dry river bed—laying in the area, was only minutes away.

Flint spoke up over the radio. "Okay everybody, the town is in sight. It's even smaller then Ar Rutbah, but there are several large trucks parked around it. This place is so fishy it reeks of tuna."

Tunnel Rat looked down to Dusty and Scimitar. "That joke was so bad it reeked like--."

"Desert Scorpions!" cried out Scimitar. Dusty looked east to where the fellow desert trooper was pointing as saw the glitter of the Cobra agents climbing out from pits in the ground and opening fire on the Joes.

Grinding to a halt, the convoy began to spill out its load of soldiers, who quickly focused on the initial group of assaulting Cobra desert troops. Dusty and Scimitar jumped out of the Hammer, while Tunnel Rat swerved the .50-cal turret around and started spraying the assaulting troops. The massive response from the G.I. Joe team sent the Desert Scorpions scrambling for their lives, but the Joe victory was short-lived, for even more Scorpions assaulted the western side of the convoy. Just as quickly as before, the dust-covered fight-pickers were running away.

"All right, guys, that confirms it: Cobra's in town. Let's flush 'em out!" rallied Flint. Jumping back into the APC and Hammer, the team prepared to invade the town.

Before the convoy began moving, Flint walked out to where Stalker was standing. The Joe ranger crouched next to the body of a fallen Desert Scorpion.

"What's the verdict, Stalker? Cobra or Bludd?"

"Neither."

Flint froze in his steps. "What?"

"Well, someone is selling the weapons, but these aren't Cobra troops." Stalker flipped over the body with the butt of his M-32. It was a man, dressed in Middle Eastern garb, but clad in Desert Scorpion gear and carrying the Cobra desert trooper's style of weapons.

"I'll be damned." Said Flint.

"Cobra may not be here, but their weapons sure are." Stalker picked up an Uzi-like weapon.

"Even if Cobra isn't here, we can't let Middle Eastern terrorists get their hands on state-of-the-art weaponry. We need to get into Ubaylah and see what's in those trucks."

"Agreed."

1.

Not willing to risk foot assault, the Joes stormed in with their vehicles. From their windows, they quickly noticed that the locals fled from their homes, running southwest across the desert. No doubt they were making their way to Ar Rutbah.

When only about a hundred yards from the town's edge, small, flaring rockets lit up the landscape as they raced above the gravelly sand and smashed into the armor shells of the Mauler and the APC.

Heavy Metal called back to Flint, "That was no RPG! That was a Cobra full-body rocket suit!"

"Damn!" cursed Flint. "Okay, team, time to unload!"

In almost a déjà vu, the Joes jumped from the APC as two more rockets slammed into the transport, shaking it hard enough to knock Footloose from the back and onto the hard desert ground.

"I want whoever's firing those things taken out, _now!_" barked Flint.

Running towards the town as fast as they could, the Joes pinpointed the source of the rocket-fire the moment it launched two more of its armor-breakers at the Joe convoy. Before the team could open fire and chase the shooter away, a hailstorm of grenades began raining down upon the team, igniting brutal explosions in every direction. Rocks, dirt and shrapnel were blown into the air. Joe team members were knocked to their knees as they scrambled for cover. The lightly lit, nearly vacant street provided little support.

"What the hell is going on?" screamed Tunnel Rat as he ran for cover next to a small building.

"They're Frag-Viper grenades, thrown from a scoop." Deduced Zap. "It's impossible to determine where they're coming from, but somebody sure has a hell of a lot of them!"

Dusty watched in terror as a grenade blasted the ground next to Spirit, tearing up the side of the Joe tracker's leg and snapping his knee joint. Despite the risk, the desert trooper ran into the street, grabbed his old friend and pulled him to relative safety next to a sidewalk bench.

After a minute, the grenades stopped falling, but the Joe team was left battered and torn. Spirit and Footloose could no longer fight, and almost every other soldier was injured. The bad guys had won this round.

"You think they ran out of grenades, or just figure we're all dead?" asked Stalker.

"Doesn't matter," pointed out Tunnel Rat, "'Cause here comes the clean-up crew!"

Over a dozen terrorists, all carrying massive SAW-Viper belt-fed machine guns, came marching down the street, their cockiness coming out in their strut-like walk. Upon seeing the Joe team still alive, they started shooting.

A SAW-Viper's rifle is fast, powerful, and carries the distinct ability to shoot without the target knowing that it is being shot at until it's already dead—it's that dark and quiet. Many of the Joes didn't start returning fire until they felt bullets tearing through their uniforms.

Stalker, Dusty, Flint and Rock'n'Roll started shooting back hard, but the terrorists were so well armored that the shots merely knocked their aim off. Nothing scared the cocky shooters until Low-Light crawled to a position around a store's corner, leveled his sniper rifle and started firing bullets through their facemasks. After four of them fell, their cockiness was long gone. Backing up, they attempted slow retreat, until two more of them fell. What few were left turned around a sprinted away.

Flint raised his hand to cancel any chase of the terrorists through town. "I don't want us getting pulled into any surprises at the end of the block."

"Flint, this town _is_ only one block." Pointed out Dusty.

Ignoring him, Flint looked back to Lady Jaye, who was kneeling next to Zap. "Dammit! Who was injured this time?"

"Zap, Rock'n'Roll and Hit & Run. Flint, there are only seven of us left on foot. We need the vehicles if we're going to make it any farther."

Flint pulled out his radio to call for the vehicles, and as he did so, Stalker walked up to Scimitar. Dusty couldn't help but overhear the conversation.

"Tough fight, eh, Scimitar?" said Stalker.

"Um…yeah. Getting scary." Replied Scimitar, nervously.

"Yep. Scary." Stalker stared at the newbie. "You know what's really scary? Lack of courage. Basically a guy with no guts."

Scimitar's forehead wrinkled, then he looked up at the Joe ranger, "What…what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I haven't seen you fire a single shot in this entire operation. Not here, not even in Fallujah. Can you explain that?"

Dusty wanted to step in and help Scimitar, but knew that he needed to stay out of it. What had that Master Sergeant back in Baghdad said? _"If we answer all the questions for them, how will they ever pass the tests themselves?"_ The concept seemed to fit here, too.

"Look, it's my first mission, I'm just nervous."

"Bull!" snapped Stalker, "Nobody gets to be a Joe by being such a woosie. You're holding back for some reason, and I want to know why!"

Scimitar attempted to stand up for himself with a hard stare, but cracked and turned away, "Because these are my people! My family is from Iraq, and you are asking me to kill my own people!"

Stalker leaned back in surprise, "I'm asking you to defend freedom--."

"How? By slaughtering Iraqi people? I am no terrorist, but I joined G.I. Joe so that I could find that scum-ball Cobra Commander, who killed my father and destroyed my family; not so I could come back here and massacre my own people!" Scimitar put his hands to his face and passionately sobbed.

Just about everyone heard the yelling of his story, and Flint walked over to the broken soldier, looked at him, then at Stalker. "Get him on the APC and make sure he stays there."

"Yes, sir."

2.

Stalker completed tying the rope around Scimitar's hands and the metal rod inside the APC. "Now, you know, I could be using 'cuffs. I'm just showing a little courtesy to a fellow Joe. After all, you haven't really done anything treasonous." Stalker gave him a cold stare, "Yet."

Scimitar looked away. "Don't worry. I'm not out to hurt G.I. Joe. I just want to go home."

"Good." Stalker. After testing the strength of the knot, the Joe ranger looked back at the desert trooper. "You know, most of these terrorists are foreigners just trying to stir up trouble. Chances are, you wouldn't hurt a single Iraqi person. Think about that." Stalker nodded, then jumped out of the personnel carrier, leaving only Scimitar and Thunder inside. The Joe newbie glanced out the back of the APC, and saw Dusty looking back at him, with just a hint of sadness on his complexion, then walk away.

Scimitar's mouth slightly curved upwards at the sides.

3.

Once the group of Joes had moved up the street and out of the city block area, Flint pointed out to the set of three eighteen-wheelers sitting out by a group of four small storage-sheds.

"Those things smell like snake, and I want some air-freshener, now!" Looking over at Heavy Metal, he gave the thumbs down signal.

The desert tank opened fire, sending 150mm shells arcing up into the air, then smashing into the far left storage shed. The little brick building exploded sideways, sending its walls blasting away over fifty yards. What should have been a little blast transformed into a sickeningly large volcanic blast of fire.

"Damn! That little box must have been stock full of ammo!" gawked Tunnel Rat.

"All right! On to shed number two!" cheered Heavy Metal.

Before the tank could change its aim, two other sheds opened up and Cobra Ferret ATVs came buzzing out. The giant blue-and-red four-wheelers were soon followed by brigades from the third shed. The swarm of terrorists carried Cobra weapons, such as SAW-rifles, grenade-throwers, Desert Scorpion weapon-packs and full-body six-rocket launcher suits.

"They're charging us!" warned Lady Jaye from the side of the APC.

"There's too many of 'em!" cried Tunnel Rat as he ducked back into the personnel carrier. Little did he know: this was only the beginning.

The loading ramp closest cargo truck opened, and a black Stinger jeep backed out. Its rear bed carried four red medium-sized anti-tank missiles. The other truck-trailer released a HISS tank.

"How the hell did Iraqi terrorists afford a HISS tank?" asked an amazed Dusty as he shot a spread of FAMAS fire at a group of grenade-throwing terrorists.

"I'm sure Cobra cut them a great deal." Growled Stalker while reloading his rifle.

"Heavy Metal! Forget those sheds! Get that HISS!" cried Flint.

It seemed hopeless: the terrorists now had five times the soldiers and twice as many vehicles. Well-rested, they had yet another advantage against the beaten and worn out Joes.

Forced to keep positions around their vehicles, the Joe team was desperately trying o keep themselves from being shot as they scrambled for their lives. Thankfully, it was a turkey shoot—easy pickin's. But the Joes had nowhere to run, and knew that it was only a matter of time before they were torn apart.

But Joes don't break that easily.

Whether you believe in guardian angles or just dumb luck, the team received help of some sort when a fast-moving glitter dropped from the sky and raced across the desert. Very few people in the ensuing chaos noticed it, but Dusty, with his knowledge of what should be on or even above a desert, did.

"Guys!" he shouted, pointing east, "Get down! Air strike!"

As the Joes looked east in confusion, they started dropping like drugged insects in an old jam jar. A second glitter disconnected itself from the larger one, then zipped across the night sky like a shooting star. It grew bigger and bigger until the terrorists finally caught sight of it, and started screaming in panic. They attempted to scatter, but it was far too late for that. The guided bomb struck the easternmost eighteen-wheeler and transformed it into a massive inferno of heat and shrapnel. Terrorists all across the desert area were blown off of their feet or torn apart by flying shards of metal. The Ferrets barely managed to zoom away with their transitions in tact.

As the smoking debris sprinkled from the air, the Joes stood back up and assessed the situation. Well over a third of the terrorist group had been killed by the Stealth Fighter's bombing run. Although still outnumbered, a G.I. Joe victory seemed much more feasible.

"Okay, Joes! Let's take this scum down!" rallied Flint as he waved the team of seven on.

Still in a state of confusion, the terrorists were even easier pickings for the Joe team—at least for a few seconds. After about six more of them fell, they regrouped and began hailing a barrage of grenades again. Heavy SAW-rifle fire soon rejoined the battle, breaking up the Joe's attack formation.

While shooting back at some grenade-throwers hidden behind a cargo-truck, Flint called over to his sniper, "Low-Light! Get rid of those grenades! Now!"

Without a response, Low-Light crawled behind a lump of broken trailer metal and set up his rifle. In less than a minute, two grenade-throwers were pushing up daisies.

Dusty only caught a glimpse of the flicker, but his common sense warned him that a grenade was flying at him. Jumping to his right, he avoided the hard blast from the small explosive. As he tried to stand back up, however, the damage was clear: shrapnel had eaten up his leg. It wasn't fully broken, like Spirit's, but it sure hurt like hell.

Screams of Arabic pierced Dusty's ears, and he looked over to see a terrorist, clad in Desert Scorpion gear, running at him, carrying a huge sword.

"Geeze!" cried the desert trooper. Rolling to his right, the Joe dodged the attack, but was in too much pain to kick back. He no longer held his FAMAS to shoot back with. All he had was his knife, which looked ridiculously small at the moment.

Once again, the terrorist swung the sword at Dusty, who managed to avoid the hack, praising all the training that Snake-Eyes had forced him to endure. Now able to get a kick out with his good right leg, Dusty booted the terrorist, who fell backwards onto the gravel. Painfully scrambling after him, the Joe desert trooper crawled onto his opponent's body with his knife raised, preparing to stab him through the chest…and froze.

It was…it was all too similar. There he was, looking down upon a helpless person that would soon be dead. Dusty fought to keep himself from dropping his knife. The terrorist noticed the struggle in Dusty's eyes, and using his outstretched right arm, grabbed his sword, pushed the Joe away and slashed Dusty's left side.

Screaming in pain, and acting on reflex, Dusty rolled back and jabbed the knife into the chest of the terrorist, who began coughing, choking, then collapsed to the ground.

Slowly rising to his feet, Dusty stared down in terror, but clenched his eyes and grabbed the cut along his side beneath his arm. Looking over at the sword, Dusty felt a chill.

It was a scimitar.


	7. Wars on Wheels

**Chapter 7**

**Wars on Wheels**

Rattling like a fifty-year-old clothes-dryer, the war-torn Hammer jeep chased the fresh and scratch-free Stinger jeep across the gravelly sand of the Syrian Desert, aided only by the weak light of a waning moon.

"C'mon! Move, dammit!" cursed Spearhead. He was not a vehicle driver. He was an infantryman, born and bred. But fate has a nasty sense of humor, and today's stab at Spearhead was to get him so badly wounded that he had no other choice than to get stuck in the driver's seat of a shot-up Army jeep.

And yet, fate can show mercy, too. It was obvious that the driver of the Stinger jeep didn't know any more about the operation of his vehicle than Spearhead did of his. His movements were sloppy, with lots of skidding and swerving. And although the Stinger is armed with four very large, very nasty missiles on it, they driver hadn't attempted to use them yet.

But, the Stinger was in a lot better shape than the Hammer, so the Joe vehicle was having a hell of a time trying to keep up with it. Another kink: Spearhead was alone; there was no one else in the Hammer to man the .50-cal turret, so all he had was his supply of missiles, which were smaller and nowhere near as nasty as the Stinger's. Well, he did have two more of them.

The Stinger suddenly climbed up a small hill, then dropped down the other side.

"What the--?" Shifting down a gear and riding the brake, Spearhead coasted up to the top of the small hill. Looking to his right, he could see the rear lights of the Cobra jeep rumbling down a wide ditch; no, a dry riverbed; no, the _Wadi Ubaylah!_

Pressing the accelerator, and shifting up, Spearhead drove the Hammer down into the _wadi _and attempted to catch up to the Stinger; but it was a lost cause. With a shot-up engine that was working because of some grace of the gods, there was no way that he could match the Stinger's speed. The black jeep was almost two hundred yards away when it spun around and started charging back at the Joe Hum-V.

"Crap!" Attempting to aim the rear missiles launchers without the aid of a lighted targeting screen, Spearhead was thrown into a panic when two of the Stinger's giant red missiles hissed, then fired off of their tower and rocketed for the Hammer. Locked into a hard right turn with its gas pedal slammed down, the massive Joe jeep nearly half-piped it into the air out of the _wadi_ as the red Cobra missiles blasted on by.

As his vehicle slapped back onto the ground, cracking its driveshaft, Spearhead's stomach took a hard hit from the steering wheel. The sleek black Cobra jeep slowly rolled out of the trench, confident of its potential victory. Once the driver saw the condition of the Hammer, with its wheels tilted to the left and front bumper licking the ground, he felt the battle was over; he was even cocky enough to turn the Stinger perpendicular to the Hammer and rotate the missile-tower ninety-degrees.

Despite his aching shoulder and potential inner-body damage, Spearhead scrambled himself off of the driver's seat and up into the .50-cal machine gun and unlocked the latch. Aiming for the Stinger's windows, he opened fire as fast as he could. The rapid fire began tearing up the Stinger's right side—but most importantly, it shattered the right window, and killed the driver before the missiles could be launched.

Crawling out of the Hammer, Spearhead grimaced in pain, then looked back at the town, which was now miles away. Frowning, he looked back at the Stinger, blew a puff of air up his face, then began walking over to the moderately damaged Cobra vehicle.

1.

The wheels of the APC shook the ground as it pulled up next to Flint and Tunnel Rat. Lady Jaye came running up to the side of the behemoth vehicle to take cover from the raging battle. Before she could begin talking, the transport's cannon thundered out a blast from its 50mm cannon across the field into the side of a burning storage shed.

"Flint!" called out Lady Jaye, "Dusty is down, and we've lost sight of Spearhead and the Hammer."

Tunnel Rat ran forward and opened fire with his 7.62mm at a Ferret 4-Wheeler racing past the APC.

"Any idea how many more of these guys are left?" asked Flint.

"Just a handful." Replied Lady Jaye, "Stalker is fighting closer to the cargo trucks. I have no idea where Low-Light is, but I don't think he's been taken out."

Flint shook his head. "Me neither. He's better than that." Adjusting his beret, G.I. Joe's Warrant Officer checked the ammo in his M-16, then grabbed Lady Jaye and kissed her.

After a couple seconds, she pushed him back, "C'mon, Flint, we don't have time for that."

"I just needed a little luck." As he smiled, Lady Jaye weakened, then he ran off.

Looking at Tunnel Rat, Lady Jaye warned, "Say anything, and I break you."

Saluting her, Tunnel Rat ran off.

2.

Leaning back from the night-vision scope, Heavy-Metal cursed and pulled down the black shift lever. Shaking and groaning its protest, the Mauler surrendered to its highest gear; a speed that hadn't been touched in over two years.

There was no choice. The HISS, which stood for HI-Speed-Sentry, was without a doubt faster than the G.I. Joe's sleek desert assault tank, and HISS-drivers loved to rub it in whenever they could. It had a sleek front end, elevated three feet off of the ground, which looked like a giant airplane canopy—it even had a large shatter-proof glass cover. The back-end was roughly eight feet wide at the base, and narrowed to about four feet at the top. The twin 90mm-turret-carrying contraption buzzed off across the rocky sand as the Mauler crushed the same stones that had been kicked into the air moments before.

Realizing there was little choice, Heavy Metal shifted the same stick down, a move that the quieter tone of the Mauler could be interpreted as a sign of thankfulness for. Activating the weapons system, the tank driver pressed the automatic weapons-loader. It was a system he didn't like, but on a team like the Joes, the luxury of a human cannon loader was a rarity. A special automated loading system was developed just for the Joe tanks, like the Mauler and the MOBAT, but Heavy Metal had never trusted it.

As the whirrs and hums of the system flooded the background, the Joe tank driver checked his night-vision scope. The HISS could still be seen far in the distance, but beginning a long right turn. Slowly rotating the Mauler to the right, Heavy Metal shifted the gear down and brought the tank to a stop.

The green light and buzz indicating that the automatic loading was finished came on, and was soon silenced by a slap of the Joe tank driver's hand. He couldn't take his eyes off of the HISS as it completed its right turn and began a drive back at the Mauler. It was far enough away that Heavy Metal was sure that he was out of range of its pitifully weak 90mm cannons, but it was shootin' time for the Mauler's 150mm.

"Now I got ya, asshole."

Passionately pressing the fire button, Heavy Metal shook as the Mauler blasted off its reduced flash 150mm shell off towards the HISS. With a projectile flying faster than the speed of sound and without a bright light to warn him, the Cobra—or terrorist—tank driver wouldn't even know that he was shot at until his precious little ride exploded.

And it did.

Rupturing in five directions, the HI-Speed-Sentry shattered into large pieces of burning scrap, exploding first from the 150mm shell, then again as the HISS' ammunition and fuel supply added to the destruction. It was a boom that could be heard over a hundred miles away.

Leaning back into his driver's seat, Heavy Metal blew a sigh of relief, then smiled. Patting the tank's inner wall, he shifted into first gear and revved the engine forward.

3.

An explosion reflected off of the side of the APC's right armor plating. Causing little more than a dent, a burn, a vibration, and a grinding of Thunder's molars, the 20mm shell was not much of a success; but for the driver of the Ferret, it was a lot of fun.

Racing the giant four-wheeler across the desert ground, the driver nearly rolled over while pulling a hard right turn, escaping from the 50mm cannon atop the Joe's big green troop-carrier.

Heavy machine-gun fire soon chased the terrorist and his crafty new machine, but he knew the American scum would never touch him. Driving towards his fellow fighters, a feeling of safety blanketed him. He knew that they would protect him as he circled around the burning wrecks of the eighteen-wheelers.

Meeting up with the only remaining Ferret on the battlefield, the driver waved to him, and received a nod of the other driver's head. The two fanatics accelerated their little blue vehicles around the storage sheds and came up on the left side of the APC. Squeezing the left trigger, the driver fired the 20mm cannon. The launch was quickly followed by a blast from the second Ferret's cannon. Two more fiery red blasts ricocheted off the side of the APC, this time, leaving a heavily warped piece of armor hanging at a tilt on the carrier's side.

With their arms raised, the terrorists cheered in victory; until the second Ferret driver shook from rapid bullet strikes and slipped off of the right side of his four-wheeler. Grabbing his Ferret's handlebars and flooring the accelerator, the terrorist stared back in horror as his brother-of-arms' vehicle rumbled across the ground, then abruptly stopped.

No longer able to contain his rage, the terrorist turned his Ferret back towards the APC, but this time didn't fire. This time, he was looking for G.I. Joes. After only moments, he found one, wearing a beret, crouched down on one leg in the middle of the field.

Switching the firing controls to the twin machine guns, which were guided by the handlebars, the terrorist shifted down a gear, hunched over and pulled the trigger. The shots were spewing sand twenty feet short of the Joe, so the terrorist turned the crank to raise the aim.

Ten feet short. Lights from the Joe's position indicated that the Joe had begun shooting back. Metallic clangs starting dancing across the front of the Ferret, but they weren't high enough to hit the terrorist. After turning the crank just a touch, the driver squeezed his hand again.

Rolling to the left to dodge the shots, the Joe narrowly avoided the bursts of sand. Pressing the pedal, the terrorist charged, making sure to lower the twin machine guns' aim ever so slightly.

Now lower to the ground, the bursts of light from the Joe were shorter, indicating more precise, aimed shots.

They worked.

As the puffs of dark sand raced across the gavel-strewn sand, bursts of a different kind spew from the head of the driver. Collapsing over the handlebars, causing a stiff jerk left, the body of the defeated terrorist sent the Ferret into a bouncing, crushing, and ear-stinging roll.

4.

Holding her hand down to Flint, Lady Jaye pulled her commanding officer—and potential main squeeze—off of the painful ground. "Nice shootin, Tex."

"That…that was scary." Flint wiped off his brow and slung his M-16 over his shoulder. "I'm gonna need a beer."

"No can do, boss." Lady Jaye leaned closer, "Although I heard Rock'n'Roll brought some whisky."

"That'll do just fine."

Stalker walked over to the pair of giggling Joes. "I'm pretty sure we've cleaned 'em all out. Low-Light and Tunnel Rat are doing a final check."

"Stinger coming in!" screamed out Tunnel Rat.

"What the hell?" snarled Flint as he pulled down his rifle. The group of Joes walked over to the approach vector of the jeep, when the vehicle stopped about one-hundred yards away.

"What the hell is it doing? Is it going to shoot us with its missiles?" asked Stalker.

Low-Light stared through his scope, then started laughing.

"What's so funny?" asked Lady Jaye, who was on the brink of laughter, induced by Low-Light's chuckles.

"It's Spearhead! The shmuck must have lost the Hammer and commandeered the Cobra jeep!" replied Low-Light.

With that, every one was laughing. Simply put, they all needed to laugh.

5.

After a few minutes, every Joe vehicle and soldier had returned to the area, and the soldiers were once again standing at the rear of the APC. Every one and every thing looked exhausted. It had been a tough battle, despite the terrorists' lack of experience with the weapons they had used. There was one missing factor, however.

"Major Bludd. We can't find him, and the terrorists deny his existence." Flint punched the back end of the transport and cussed.

As Tunnel Rat wrapped gauze around Dusty's blood-stained stomach, the desert trooper spoke up, "My bet is that he's heading for Syria." After a stop to flinch in pain, Dusty continued, "If he was here at all."

Stalker walked over to his wounded teammate. "Damn good guess. He's got a half-hour lead on us, but he shouldn't be there yet."

"We'd never catch him!" griped Spearhead from a seat inside the APC, "Not without the Hammer."

Flint jumped up into the transport, "Thunder, let's get on the radio. We're making a call to that guy who flies the Stealth fighter."

Before the warrant officer could take another step, everyone jumped at the cry of a very loud whistle. Looking back towards a small concrete house sitting at the edge of town, the Joes saw Low-Light jogging towards them, pulling his index fingers from his mouth.

"What the hell was that about?" barked Stalker.

"You guys'll never believe what I just found parked behind the market!"


	8. Final Answers

**Chapter 8**

**Final Answers**

"Trouble Bubbles! These guys actually had Trouble Bubbles! I'll be damned!" Tunnel Rat followed his statement with a short whistle. The sight of one of the circular vehicles—not much different than flying chairs topped by huge glass globes toting a pair of jet engines strapped their the backs—was truly an awkward blessing.

"What else do you think these guys have lying around?" asked Lady Jaye.

Flint ran the palms of his hands across the spherical covers of the two dusty Cobra Flight Pods, dimly viewable in the dark night, yet shining with potential.

"Who cares?" said the warrant officer, "Our mission has just been saved."

1.

Riding against the wind across the Syrian Desert, Flint kept his pale hands clamped to the steering handles while trying to keep the crazy Trouble Bubble in the air. Whatever engineer thought these things up needed to be shot. End of story.

Now, take off was fairly easy. Push a button, up you go. Even the Jetsons could understand that. Keeping it airborne was also easy; it was designed to keep itself up. But with moped-like controls and frighteningly small rudders, keeping the flying chair from spinning out of control as it passionately fought your commands to face forward, now that was the challenge.

After a few minutes of practice and near-death experiences, Flint felt that he had the hang of flying the flight pod. Now, in his opinion, only Stalker could handle the stress of flying the second Bubble, as well as successfully complete the battle against Major Bludd. He had no choice but to take the mission's number two man with him.

Saying their farewells, the two Joe leaders lifted off the ground in the Flight Pods, whining their engines as they rocketed away across the desert sky.

Much to their own amazement, the Joe warrant officer and Joe ranger managed to keep a speed of over one-hundred-fifty miles-per-hour, more than enough speed to catch the major before he reached the border—if he hadn't left Ubaylah before the moment of their attack. They also kept an altitude of two-hundred feet, to help broaden their viewing range. Despite the limits of the dark night sky, the Joes knew that their job was too important to simply turn back on.

Speaking over headset, Stalker contacted Flint, "We'll be reaching the boarder in a couple of minutes, Flint, and there's been no sign of Major Bludd. What should we do?"

Frightened by a sudden shaking of the Trouble Bubble, Flint kept his stare forward, "I think that we should split up. You head southwest, I'll head northeast. Maybe the Major didn't take the road."

"You think he's roughing it?"

Flint slowly nodded. "Yep. Let's go."

Taking cautious, wide turns, the two Joes went their separate ways.

2.

He couldn't fight it anymore. Despite the fear, it had to happen:

Flint yawned.

Looking at the control panel, Flint bit his lip. The gas meter was almost to the halfway mark. If it went much farther, he wouldn't make it back. The Flight Pods sure couldn't last long.

Flint yawned again.

It had been a brutally long day, without much sleep. Creeping over the eastern horizon, the sun began to bring a touch of beauty to the desolate, barren wasteland. It was quite a heart-warmer.

But it also was the answer to all of Flint's questions.

A small black dot zipped across the Syrian Desert floor, drilling a northwestern bee-line across the rocky ground. If not for the little hint of sunshine, Flint would have totally missed the black vehicle.

After reporting his discovery to Stalker, Flint reduced engine power and began a descent upon the little target, which soon revealed itself to be a Stinger jeep.

As he attempted to prepare the Flight Pod's missiles, the control panel began flashing red. "What the heck?" Looking down to the Stinger, Flint could see a pair of Surface-to-Air-Missiles launch from the back end. After cussing out loud, the Joe warrant officer grabbed the turret cannon's control and squeezed the trigger 'til it hurt.

Whether it was a reward from his kiss to Lady Jaye, or just a shining of his skill, one of the missiles exploded; but its surviving twin burst from the cloud of smoke and speared straight for the Trouble Bubble. Seeing no other choice, Flint pulled the red switch, killing the Flight Pod's power. The shining glass ball dropped and tumbled backward as the red rocket thundered over it, missing only by inches.

After falling forty feet, Flint pressed the blue button.

Nothing happened.

He quickly pressed it again.

Nothing.

Smacking it this time, he waited for a response.

Not a sound.

Cussing again. Flint looked over at the red switch. He had forgotten to re-set it.

Once it was back in "Active" position, he pressed the blue button yet again.

Blammo. Engine fire galore.

Gently regaining control of the Trouble Bubble, Flint brought it to a stop just ten feet from the ground.

"Looks like you could use another flying lesson."

Looking up, Flint could see Stalker's Flight Pod whine onto the scene about eighty feet above him.

"Yadda yadda yadda. That thing's still got two missiles. We need to take him out together. Ready?"

"After you."

Flint smiled, "Yeah. After me."

Now chasing after the Stinger, the Flight Pods started shooting their turret guns, which had little effect against the armored jeep.

Stalker pointed to his left, "Hey, check that out!"

Flint looked over to see more desert—and a dry river bed. New strategy shot quickly into his mind. "We need to get the Stinger into that _wadi_." Ordered the warrant officer

"That'll be tough." Dreaded Stalker.

"You don't join the Army for a cake-walk, Stalker; you of all people should know that." After receiving a salute from the Joe ranger, Flint led the pair around to the right side of the black jeep and started firing solely at its right door.

At first reluctant to move, the Cobra vehicle eventually surrendered to the Joe barrage and turned left—straight for what Flint would later learn is the _Wadi al-Sawab_. After a minute of driving, the Stinger dropped into the river bed and attempted to climb out the other side.

"Stop him, Stalker!" called out Flint.

The ranger's Trouble Bubble swerved across the trench and blasted the jeep back down. As the dark vehicle attempted to get away, it fired its two remaining missiles into the air behind it, but they were fired in panic; it wasn't likely that they were even aimed, since they didn't come close to hitting anything.

"We've got him! I'm going in!" Flint pushed forward on his controls and dropped his pod into the trench directly behind the scrambling Stinger. With his control panel shining green now, Flint activated the missile launch trigger and fired off his Bubble's two rockets. In moments, the back end of the black jeep exploded in a fiery blast.

Nearly jumping out of the Flight Pod before it settled to the ground, Flint ran through the _wadi_ over to the Stinger to pull open the driver side door and apprehend Major Bludd.

But before he even reached the front end, the door was smashed off the side of the jeep and sent flying through the air. Flint skidded to a stop and fell backwards, gawking with amazed fear. Out of the driver's seat crawled a Battle-Android-Trooper. The black clothed, yellow-belted and silver-faced robot looked over to the G.I. Joe warrant officer, then raised its left hand. Using that hand, it grabbed its right hand and twisted it off. After tossing the right hand away, it reached back into the burning, smoking jeep and pulled out a machine-gun-arm attachment, and twisted it onto its right forearm. After its featureless faceplate flashed red, it aimed its arm at Flint, who was nervously scrambling backwards towards his Flight Pod.

Machine gun fire filled the air—but it wasn't Flint who was torn to pieces. Opening his eyes again, the Joe warrant officer looked at the BAT lying in pieces at the side of the jeep. Turning his focus to the side of the _wadi_, Flint stared in awe at Stalker standing atop the edge of the trench holding his smoking M-32.

"Damn, Stalker, you certainly know how to make an entrance."

The Joe Ranger skidded down the slope of the _wadi_ until he stood next to his friend, then helped him up. "I could have shot earlier. I just wanted to give you a lasting memory."

After slugging Stalker in the stomach, Flint examined the Stinger. "That BAT was all alone in this jeep."

"_Cough, cough._ Must have been a decoy. Looks like we missed the Major after all."

Slamming his hand against the hood of the Stinger, Flint hung his head low and looked down at the ground and thought for a few moments. "I can't accept that. What if…"

"What if what?"

"What if the Major knew we were coming all along?"

"Say what?"

Within minutes, the two Joes were back in the air, racing towards Ubaylah.

3.

Sand and gravel blew away as the Bubbles settled to the ground. Flint and Stalker stepped out of the Pods slowly, just taking a moment to stretch or crack their backs.

Lady Jaye walked over to Flint with a look of concern. "So how did it go? You two still look a bit focused on something."

Quickly catching on to what they were looking at, Tunnel Rat nodded at the APC. "He's still in there. Want me to get 'im?"

"No." said Flint as he marched by, "You guys all stay out of this."

4.

Although the troop transport was full of unconscious, wounded soldiers, it still held one healthy Joe tied up near the front of the vehicle. Dusty was the only wounded soldier still awake, and couldn't help but notice Flint and Stalker crawl into the big vehicle and sit down across from Scimitar. They were complete stone-faces…but surprisingly, so was he.

"I want to know why you haven't been fighting." Demanded Flint.

"I already explained to Stalker--."

"Bull!" barked the ranger. "I want the truth this time. Who sent you?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" asked Scimitar, almost without a flinch.

Flint leaned in closer. "When did you tell Major Bludd to evacuate Ubaylah?"

Scimitar remained motionless. Dusty could see the possible traitor's stone-face expression begin to quiver.

Stalker began drilling: "Look, I don't know how a Cobra supporter made his way into the G.I. Joe team, but I promise you this, you aren't making it past Guantanamo Bay unless you start talking."

With that statement, Scimitar's eyes bugged out. "Look, I…I had to. I couldn't have you Joe…bastards…come here and start killing my people. I figured if I got Cobra out of here fast, it would all be over…sooner. It's not like I support Cobra, come on. I really did want to join and kill them."

"If your personal beliefs are that strong, you have no place joining the military of any country. That's fanaticism." Said Flint, who quickly turned back to business. "Now, answer our question: did you inform Major Bludd of our attack?"

Sniffing in thought for a few seconds, Scimitar finally answered, "Yes. I used the radio while we were re-fueling outside of Ar Rutbah."

"Was he expecting the call?" inquired Stalker.

"Yes. A bit sooner, maybe, but he knew it was coming."

Flint leaned back with his hands on his knees. "Kind of explains why the terrorists were all set for us when we arrived. Damn. I should have seen this sooner." Scratching his head, the Joe warrant officer started walking out of the APC, slowly checking the bodies of the injured Joes. "I hope you're proud of what you've done, Scimitar. Get the 'cuffs out, Stalker." With that, Flint jumped out of the transport.

Stalker began untying the ropes and staring coldly at the fallen Joe desert trooper. "Did you get all you wanted out of this?"

"My brethren are dead, and my fellow soldiers are wounded. What do you think?" Scimitar turned his face away.

"Now you know how stupid it is to work with the bad guys. It always backfires on you." Stalker clamped the handcuffs and left the APC.

Dusty, barely able to keep his eyes open anymore, drifted into a long, yet very unpleasant sleep.


	9. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The thunderous blast of a Skystriker's take-off woke Dusty up from his light nap. It was hard not to hear them from anywhere on the _USS Flagg_, and ever since the Joe team started air patrols in Iraq, takeoffs were non-stop.

Flint walked into the sick-bay carrying a bag and a canteen. "Afternoon, Dusty. Thought I'd come see how you're doing, and bring you some of your stuff." Tossing the dirty bag on the bed, Flint handed the canteen to the wounded trooper. Looking at it, Dusty saw two bullet holes in it.

"How much longer are you going to be in here?" asked the warrant officer.

"Another week at least. The sword slash cut up my intestines."

Flinching, Flint replied, "Ouch. Does it hurt to eat?"

"A little." Through with the small talk, Dusty got to the point, "So what's happening with Scimitar?"

Flint frowned and sat on the end of the bed, draping an arm over Dusty's bag, "The Court Martial will happen almost as soon as we get back to the States. General Hawk is pissed." Letting out a sigh, Flint looked sideways over to Dusty. "There is a question as to why you didn't notice any of this."

Slightly insulted, Dusty nodded in understanding, "Honestly, I didn't have a lot of time to talk to the guy. He kept to himself, and only brought up his concerns about the battle once." Looking down, Dusty continued, "I talked to him a little bit about it, but I never thought…"

"It's okay. I know you wouldn't hurt us, but big-wigs in the military don't. Make sure you remember everything." Standing back up, Flint cracked his knuckles. "All right, I've got a briefing to sit through. You get better."

"Yes, sir." Dusty returned his friend's smile as he left the room.

This last mission had been just about the worst in Dusty's G.I. Joe experience. Not because of any physical challenge—there were plenty of missions that topped this one in that respect—but because of the mental strain. Terrorism is a word that is too wide; it can mean so many different things. Battles with Cobra were never like the battles with fanatic Middle Eastern terrorists.

To top it all off, a Joe who could have potentially been a great friend, turned out to be a fanatic traitor. That hurt.

Though he was still proud to call himself the G.I. Joe Desert Trooper "Dusty," Ronald Tadur knew that if he was going to survive the stress of the new definition of "terrorism," he could no longer do it alone.


End file.
